


ripped at every edge, but you're a masterpiece.

by cinnamonvibes



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 05:29:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7922317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamonvibes/pseuds/cinnamonvibes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ivy grows flowers in her hands, while Harley grows flowers in Pamela’s heart. (Or, the one in which Pamela and Harley escape Arkham and live happily ever after.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	ripped at every edge, but you're a masterpiece.

Everything is blue the first time they meet.

There’s a gigantic bruise blossoming on the inside of Harley’s jaw, but Pamela notices the sheen of sapphire in her eyes matches the blue hibiscus flowers she grows along the edge of her cell’s windowsill. There’s been an uproar of violence surrounding Gotham City - so much Superman has traveled down yonder to help - that she isn’t surprised when they throw the new resident into her cell.

She figures there’s worse people to share a confined space with.

“Hi! ‘M Harley - pleased to make yer acquaintance!” The girl extends her hand, fingernails chipped from obvious biting. Ivy’s no therapist, but she can tell the pep is a facade, and there’s secrets burning in the confines of Harley’s heart.

“Ivy,” she forgoes the poison, literally and metaphorically. “These are for you.” She musters the minimal strength provided from the lack of sun, and taps into the power presented by the little pot directly behind her. It’s more of a twin entity than the bouquet she imagined, but Harley’s squeal and crushing hug seems to tell Ivy that she likes the gift anyways.

-

Harley works her way through the ribcage to plant roots in Pamela’s heart from the very first day.

“Yer an alien aren’t ya?” Harley breaks the barrier. “Prettiest alien I ever did see, _and_ I’ve met Superman.”

“No,” Pamela giggles, and rests her back against the cement wall. Her fingers idly play with the leaves of her potted plant, edging the photosynthesis to reach her too. She feels full. “Freak accident.”

“Wouldn’t call ya a freak either,” Harley interrupts. Pamela isn’t bothered. “What happened?”

“Met a guy. Told me he could make me better.” Pamela shrugs. She inches down so that her body is now resting on her bed. The small sliver of sun hits her, and she closes her eyes. “Big mistake.”

“Tell me about it. Who needs boyfriend when all they do is--”

“Beat you?”

“I was going to say make you cry, but...” Harley sounds dejected, but doesn’t finish her sentence. Pamela doesn’t pry. She’s heard enough stories from the devil incarnate himself to know the Joker and Quinn’s relationship outside the walls of Arkham.

Harley’s not exactly unknown.

Pamela seeks a subject change.

“So, Superman, huh?”

Harley spends the next hour talking about how _cuuuuuute_ he is, while Pamela spends the hour realizing how cute Harley is.

-

They do everything together, and it’s not because they’re roommates. Pam considers Harley a friend - something similar to a boyfriend to cuddle at night when Arkham gets cold, but less emotionally taxing. They know exactly where they stand.

When they settle in the dining hall for lunch, Harley makes her presence known to Ivy by lacing their fingers together, and taking one for the team. She eats, rather sloppily and without coordination, with her left hand - so that their fingers never have to unlace.

Then, when the guard calls lights out, Pamela frees herself of garments. Her elbow bends, hand reaching for the spot just in between her shoulder blades to scratch an itch. Harley, however, tends to the annoyance before Pamela can even ask for a favor, nails digging slightly into her back in an appeasing manner.

“Thank you,” she says sincerely, hand against Harley’s cheek, thumb brushing skin gingerly.

“Anytime.”

-

“I struck a deal.”

Harley’s been gone for two weeks - some sort of suicide mission that had kept Pamela up every night, scouring the Earth’s growth for a sign of Harley’s safety.

She’d forgone eating to meditate, calling out amongst the ferns and redwoods for her best friend; offering help, subtly, through the forest and dirt.

“ _Harley,_ ” Pamela has no idea how she’s missed the words of the dandelion weeds that litter the unkempt gardens at Arkham. They should have notified her of Harley’s return. “I thought I’d never see you again.” Pamela stands on her tiptoes when she hugs Harley, wrapping her arms around her neck. The scent of the outside is alien to Pamela at this point, but the residual scent of _Harley_ underneath the paint and ruin is palpable.

“I’d haunt ya, Pam A Lamb. If I die before ya, I’d come into your cell every night and yank yer legs. Make sure ya know I’m around.” Harley smiles, and a guard calls for her.

“The Devil said we could get an espresso machine, _and…”_ Emerald eyes widen as the guard rolls the items in on a cart. There’s a bag of 10 pound soil, a watering can, clay pots, and 20 different types of seeds. “I told them that we were kind of a team, and if I’m getting perks, then you get ‘em, too.”    

-

“You were there with me, weren’t you, Red?” Harley murmurs in the middle of the night. They’re not allowed to sleep together, obviously, but it’s a Tuesday and the guard lets them do whatever they want in exchange for relationship advice.

“Could you feel me?” Pamela replies, eyes gingerly opening to acknowledge Harley. Her fingers gently scrape against Pam’s head, and the sensation has her lulling in and out of consciousness. “Sweetheart,” she says. “You’ll knock me out quick.”

Harley smiles, and it’s fitted with teeth. She halts her ministrations momentarily. “There was a point where I was _sure_ I was a goner, but the ground sunk in on itself. A little crater just appeared, right in the middle. I knew it had to be you.”

Pamela adjusts herself. Her hand folds against her chest into a fist, and she rests it tenderly over Harley’s heart. “Cross _my_ heart, Harls. I’m always with you.”

\--

She sees green the first time _he_ arrives at Arkham.

The word spreads quickly of his rampage. He manages to rob two banks in 20 minutes, and kill 46 henchmen without so much as leaving his Gotham hideout. His game is easy; manipulate those until the field is clear and the money is within distance of his location.

It’s how he gets away with most heists. He lures the bat to the scene of the chaos, while the money drives itself through Gotham in a hidden vehicle by his most trusted right-hand men.

This time, though, the detective work of James Gordon stops him right in the middle. He’s almost out of Gotham when the Batmobile saddles up behind him and launches a rocket directly into the cargo. The money’s gone, and his head’s lucky to be in its place.

When he’s wheeled into Arkham, strapped to a bed and wires taped all over his skin, Pamela’s sure Harley’s joker senses tingle. She sits, idly and quietly, against the glass wall and waits for his grand entrance.

Technology has developed well enough that the serum injected into the Joker has him lifeless. He’s alive, but barely coherent. Pamela feels the satisfaction coursing through her, reacting like the absorption of water through roots. She gains strength from his weakness.

“His haircut’s stupid.” She says confidently.

“I like it.” Harley’s hand is balled into a fist against the glass. She looks desperate, almost deranged.

Pamela scoffs.

-

It’s Tuesday and Harley’s on her side of the cell, tinkering with a pen and paper. The side of her bed that should be Harley's is cold.

“What are you doing, Harley?” Pamela inquires.

“Creating an escape plan. Puddin may be on cloud nine without his consent, but I know he’s probably waiting for me to get us outta here. He needs me, y’know? Can’t let him down.”

(Pamela devises a plan of her own.)

-

The guards haven’t caught on, but neither has Harley.

Harley is the sun, where Pamela is the seedling that anxiously awaits for the shower of compliments. It helps her grow, makes her strong.

Every night, Pamela peels away at the skin of her hand, allowing the poison from her veins to penetrate the soil of her hibiscus plant, and the 20 new little clay pots that litter her windowsill.

It’s been exactly a year since Harley’s arrival, and 2 months since the Joker set foot in Arkham. Harley’s distanced herself - not by choice, but by nature. Pamela can read her body language; the anxiety that palpitates through Harley is felt by the Earth around her, and it speaks to her. Reminds her that all living, breathing things need coaxing to reach their full potential.

“You’re so beautiful, Harley.” Pamela breaks the silence. “When you think, when you smile, when you… exist.”

It’s the first time in weeks that Pamela’s noticed a grin break through Harley’s features. It relaxes her shoulders, makes Harley approachable.

Pamela sits next to her, thighs touching. Their backs are against the wall, and while Harley’s height allows her feet to touch the floor, Pamela’s hang over the edge of the bed.

“You really think so, Red?”

“I know so.”

This time, Pamela takes Harley’s hand, and stretches each finger out so that her palm is visible. Pale green digits trace the outline of each finger, following the curve to gently caress the vein located at the inside of Harley’s wrist.

“When I was 17, my only friend dragged me to a little palm reading boutique located right in the middle of downtown Seattle.” Harley listens intently; it’s not often Pamela discusses her life prior to the accident. “The old lady sitting smack dab in the center had snow white hair, and wore red and blue spectacles.”

Harley smiles at that, tilts her head to the side in acknowledgement of the coincidence.

“And she told me that I would have the utmost success I could have ever imagined. I would find ultimate riches in the passion I sought, but that I would suffer in love. That the man I seek will never find me.”

“And you believed her?”

“Yes, and no.” Pamela closes Harley’s palm unexpectedly; she can feel the jump from Harley next to her. “For one, the man I sought was a woman.” Harley laughs at that. “But I’ve suffered. Suffered in entities far more harsh than just love. But I’m done suffering, Harley. And I know you’re tired, too.”

Harley doesn’t agree vocally, but the squeeze against her hand is indicator enough.

“Are you ready?”

“Pam A Lamb, what are you talking about?”

“3… 2… 1…”

Pamela shields Harley’s body with her own, and the commotion from behind her sends debris their way. The hibiscus plant, now grown to a monstrous size, completely demolishes the wall in between her cell and The Riddler’s. He awakes from his slumber, shocked but ready for the opportunity. Nygma shakes his head, blinks a couple of times, and then he's off the bed.

He looks her in the eye, watches as her body absorbs the newfound energy from the sun, and steps over the blasted wall.

“ _C’mon_!” He yells over the blaring sirens. “If we don’t leave now, the Bat'll have us in a hole in the next 20 minutes.” His hand extends out for them, and Pamela takes it. Pamela extends the courtesy to Harley, who’s looking in the direction of Joker’s containment.

The internal dialogue in Pamela is telling her to leave; that the choice will never be her, but Harley closes her eyes tightly and uses Pamela’s grip to help her up.

Pamela smiles, and the flowers finally bloom against the walls of her heart.

They’re blue, red, and green all over. Like the mixture of her and Harley on the way to their future.

-

Batman arrives in less than 20 minutes, but the Riddler seems to have been planning his own escape, so along with him and Harley, Pamela gets out of the battlefield in no time.

“There’s a pipe system…” Harley’s holding onto Pamela’s hand the entire time. There’s a gash on her forehead, and her lip is busted from the falling pieces of cement. “Down… here! Aha!” She exclaims proudly. “I had a session with Killer Croc once, didn’t go well and he almost tried to make me chow, but Batsy yelled over the intercom to run this way.”

“God, you’re a _genius_!” Pamela compliments genuinely, keeping up with speed. Nygma agrees, and follows closely. There’s no fear of betrayal, not amongst friends.

“Aaaaaand, we just gotta… can you guys give me a hand!?” There’s an oversized vent that propels hot air from the inside, and Harley fears it will burn them to a crisp. She looks up into the structure, and locates the 15 foot fan. “I’m going to climb up there…” She points to the intricate medley of pipes and staircases. “Then you guys will be able to go through the vent, and I’ll meet you on the south side of Arkham. I’ve got some unfinished business.”

Nigma looks at Pamela understandingly. Harley’s going to let them go free, and subject herself right into the arms of The Joker, Pam just knows it.

The darkness of the underground has Pamela feeling weak, but the growth in her heart seems to diminish with each of Harley’s tumble. She’s slipping away, and the stems of each rose in the cavity of her heart are growing thorns defensively.

Pamela doesn’t move. Nigma looks at her with concern, and then up at Harley. She notices their gaze and looks down. She chews on her bottom lip, and calls out to Pamela from a distance of 20 feet up.

“I don’t want you to suffer anymore either!”

It’s enough for Pamela. A silent understanding of their combined emotional turmoil.

She exits the building with Nigma as soon as Harley shuts off the fan.

(He holds her hand the entire time they wait on the south side, but they never speak or look at each other. Pamela simply looks into the distance as a portion of Arkham goes up in flames.)

-

“Hey, Puddin’.”

Harley stands amongst the silence of the Joker’s cell. There’s a thick glass wall that separates them, and a mountain of differences.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.” Harley sits on the floor, cross-legged. She folds her hands neatly into her lap. The view is almost comical; she should be caught at any moment, but her intelligence isn’t one to be messed with. Through the pipe system, she’s managed to set off pressure valves in every cell of Arkham, with the exception of the Jokers.

While the guards all scurry to stop the potential death of all the inmates, Harley converses with the man of her nightmares.

“ _You_ , thinking?” She mimics him with acidity. “Oh, Harleen, I had no idea your puny brain was capable of thinking about anything other than me.”

Harley rolls her eyes, and the Joker doesn’t stir. His arms are restrained by the strait jacket, and his body is belted down to the twin size bed.

“Well, you’re wrong. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about… someone _else_. Someone who deserves better than me, but for some reason wants me so, so much. So much more than you ever did…”

Harley’s up now, palm flat against the glass. She smacks it to no avail; the glass doesn’t crack, but it’s not like she expected to.

“Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! I need ya to hear what I have to say, because I’ll never be strong enough to say it again!”

He stirs, but Harley notices it’s a viral reaction to the gas leaking into his cell. The commotion of the other inmates must have burst the pipe leading to the joker’s captivity.

“You hurt me here!” She points to the scar on the outside of her cheek. “And here!” She jabs at the visible wound in her arm. “And especially _here_.” Her opened palm turns into a fist and slams against her heart.

“But, I’m done, Puddin’. Cross my heart.”

\--

Pamela tastes red the first time they kiss.

Harley appears from the ruins, mostly unscathed. The gash on her head has since healed and dried, but the cherry red lipstick she’s managed to put on during the commotion is smeared to the side.

She meets her halfway, dropping Nigma’s hand and bolting forward to encompass her in a hug.

Harley kisses her then. It's all teeth, combined blood from the disaster, and tongue. Tears stream down her powdered white skin, and fall against Pamela’s cheek, but the sensation is rejuvenating.

Pamela greedily absorbs the light that Harley exudes and cups her cheek to bring her closer.

  
“It’s kind of like Christmas,” Harley jokes, wiping the excess cherry red lipstick off Pam’s tinged green skin. Arkham falls behind them into flames, and the Bat signal shines in broad daylight as a reminder of what they’ve escaped. They pull apart, but keep their arms against one another.

“I don’t mean to interrupt this lovely fairytale, my queens, but we’ve got maybe 10 minutes before they get this under control. Do we have a getaway car… or _anything_?” Nigma bothers, clearly nervous.

“No, but we have these, right?” Harley pulls the two small hibiscus flowers from the inside of her jumpsuit, and hands them to Pamela. “You can make it work, can’t ya’, Red?”

“Yeah,” she smiles, taking them from Harley and placing the now dried flower behind Harley’s ear. “We’ve got all of this.” Her arms extend fully, and the ground underneath them rises to destroy the fence keeping them from the next step in their life.

As they step foot over the enclosure, and onto the main road, Harley bursts into laughter.

“I call dibs on driving!”

“Okay, sweetheart.” Pamela smiles, takes Harley’s hand, and sends vines to wrap around the approaching car and remove the driver forcibly.

"Oh, and Red?" Harley looks down at their intertwined palms. "Happy one year anniversary."

**Author's Note:**

> Before anyone asks, I swear I'm working on the AU! This idea just popped in my head, and I really wanted to get a feel of Harley/Pam, since it's a lot easier to stay canon than dabble with their AU personalities. With that said, hope y'all liked this little one shot, and I always love reading your comments! Thank you.


End file.
